


Rain

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera





	Rain

The echo of my cold, hateful words and the slamming door reverberates through me like the tolling of a funereal bell while I stand in place, my feet rooted to the kitchen's floor by guilt and pain, the bitter taste of fear sharp on my tongue. What have I done?

There's a buzzing in my ears and my chest heaves with the surge of panic that engulfs me, my hands tightening into fists at my sides, fingernails digging so deep that I know their outline will be etched in blood on my skin. 

The buzzing becomes a roar, black seeping in at the edges of my vision. I can't do this. Not now. I shake my head like a punch-drunk fighter, trying to clear it, and a wave of dizziness and nausea crashes over me. I lurch towards the sink and barely make it there before scalding bile forces its way out of my body in painful convulsions as I bend over the steel edge. 

I retch and cough weakly, reaching blindly for the tap until cold water splashes on my face, and I open my mouth under the stream to wash away the foul taste. As I push myself up I catch sight of myself on the darkened windowpane, and I flinch at my reflection. I look hollow—hollow eyes, hollow cheeks, hollow heart and soul. I turn away in horror and disgust and walk back to the empty, lifeless living room.

Now that the nausea has left me, I'm gripped by urgency. My brain tells me he's long gone, but my heart doggedly entreats me to go after him, so I make my way to the living room and shrug into my jacket and slam my feet in my boots, propping one foot, then the other, on the coffee table as I do up my laces. It is only when I walk towards the door to pick up my keys, wallet and phone from their usual place in the colourful bowl on the hall table that I see his sitting there next to mine. 

Alarm bells ringing in my head, I look around me; his jacket is still carelessly hung on its peg, his shoes lying by the door where he discarded them earlier. My eyes fly to the window, and I stare in horrified silence at the gathering darkness and the rain pelting viciously on the glass. 

Guilt hits me like a fist to my solar plexus as the fact registers that he's run out in that, barefoot and wearing only jeans and a teeshirt, without a phone or money on him. When caught up in emotion, his sharp, incisive, rational brain shuts down completely and he just reacts, his reckless streak given free rein, often with disastrous consequences.

Thinking and guilt became indulgences I can't afford. I grab his jacket and shoes, bundling them tightly under my arm, and run all the way down the stairs, not bothering with the lift. I open the street door and rush outside, stoping on the footpath to look left and right as almost horizontal sheets of rain buffet me. 

At any other time, I would have appreciated the beauty of the darkened street, lights reflecting off the wet pavement like oil slicks, the cone of diffuse orange light beaming down from each streetlight turning the individual raindrops caught in it into golden fireflies. 

At any other time, I would have stood there with a smiling upturned face, letting the rain wash over me, allowing the infinite spectrum of pitch and rhythm created by drops hitting asphalt, and stone, and tile, and leaf, and metal, and glass, to thrill me.

Not tonight. Tonight the lights only make the darkness more foreboding, the relentless rain no longer fanciful in the streetlights, but harsh and cold and malevolent. As I stand there, my wet hair plastered to face and neck and dripping slowly down my collar, I try to guess the route of his desperate flight from the apartment. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, ignoring the rivulets of water running down my face and the cold, clammy feeling of the fabric of my jeans against my legs, praying to a deity I don't believe in for inspiration.

The park! My eyes open wide at that flash of intuition, and I am suddenly moving again, running across the empty road and turning left, trees lining the path on my right like eerie sentinels in the reflected light. I can barely see where I'm going, my eyes squinting against the dark and the sting of the rain on my face, but it's a familiar path to a cherished destination, and I would be able to find my way with my eyes closed.

Turning right onto the bridge that crosses the canal, I slip on the wet leaves and nearly come a cropper as I race around the corner, so I slow down a bit; I won't be any use to him if I manage to break a leg in my rush to get there. 

The lack of street lights turns the bridge into a dark tunnel that resonates with the sounds of water falling on water. An incongruous sound breaking the even pattern of the water symphony that surrounds me makes me slow down further and flick dripping hair away from my face, trying to see through the darkness. 

I close my eyes and move my head left and right, trying to pinpoint the source of the cluster of soft, dull plops: raindrops on wet fabric. Ahead of me and to my right, I think, and when I open my eyes again I see it, an indistinct blob of less-than-pitch-black where I know the bridge railing to be.

As I draw nearer, the indistinct blob slowly resolves into a small body tightly hunched in on itself against the railing, and I can hear the unmistakeable shound of post-sobbing sniffling. I rush to him, slipping again and again, until I'm kneeling by his side, my heart in my mouth at the sight of him.

His clothes are heavy with water, the prominent angles of his body sharply contoured as fabric clings to them, and the wet tendrils of his longer-than-usual hair look like ink as they lie, sleek and flat, on his pale skin. 

I touch his arm; he feels as cold as ice. He's beyond shivering, still and lifeless, and his lack of response scares me spitless. Were there any light to see by, I'm sure it would show his fingertips and toes and lips to be tinged with blue. Whispering his name, I open my jacket and wrap myself around him, shuddering at the cold squelching of his sodden clothes as they soak through mine. 

I use his own jacket as a blanket to divert the rain off him and trap the warmth between our bodies as I wrestle his icy feet into his shoes. That done, I start rubbing his arms vigorously to try and kick start his circulation back to life, and I nearly faint in relief when he melts against me with a shaky sigh.

I press my lips to the pulse point on his temple, closing my eyes in thanks at the incipient warmth blossoming under his skin. His reedy voice croaking my name is barely audible over the sound of the rain, but all my senses are straining, focused on him, and his broken words, laced with pain, undo me, "Is it really you? I thought I'd lost you."

That should be my line. I'm the one who caused this, I'm the one who drove him away with my cold, calculated anger, with finely honed words carefully aimed at his weaknesses and insecurities, designed to pierce and shred the carefully constructed layers of his defences, designed to wound and break him. 

Bile rises in my throat again at the thought that I've used as weapons those vulnerabilities he's allowed me to see in love and friendship. I force it down, though; now is not the time to indulge my guilt at the monumental breach of his trust. 

"Shhh, yes, it's me." I reassure him, and my heart nearly stops with joy as his cold fingers seek my hand and shyly lace through mine. I try to go on, but my mouth is dry, and I don't really know where to start. 

I tighten my arms around him instead, brushing clumps of wet hair off his face with my free hand, kissing every bit of clammy skin I can reach, hoping that the touch of my lips and the warmth and strength of my arms around him will convey my love and my remorse. 

The rain finally relents, becoming a soft drizzle, and we remain like that for a while, oddly peaceful, surrounded by the rush and gurgle and patter of water in the otherwise silent night. In small increments, the heat exchange between our bodies ceases to be one way, his body starting to feel less cold against mine, and I smile as warmth brings the return to movement, relieved when the familiar twitches reassert themselves.

"Do you think you'd be able to get up if I give you a hand?" I ask softly, loosening my hold on him as his restless limbs start to fight our cramped huddle. At his nod I stand up, pulling him up with me, and he weaves unevenly as I button him into his jacket. Once I'm done, he looks up at me uncertainly, his eyes pools of dark on his pale face. 

He raises a tentative hand towards me, but it drops dejectedly before it reaches me, and my heart breaks into a million pieces as I feel, rather than see, his flinch. "Oh, god, love, I'm so sorry!" I blurt out as I engulf him in a tight embrace. 

He whimpers and clings to me, and I close my eyes at the glorious, familiar feeling of his lithe body moulding itself to mine, not caring one iota that cold fingers are sneaking inside my jacket seeking my skin, or that a cold, wet nose finds its way past the collar of my shirt to nuzzle my neck.

I hold him to me and rest my cheek on his head, elation fighting disbelief, I truly had thought I'd lost him, and yet here he is, in my arms, hanging onto me as though he'll never let go. Now that he's no longer on the verge of hypothermia, though, his body fights back, the shivers starting as nothing more than light ripples along his ribcage, but building up until he's shuddering uncontrollably.

"We'd better get going before you catch your death." I say, reluctantly removing my arms and stepping back but, despite shivers that have his teeth clattering like marbles on glass, he clings tighter, stepping back with me. I hook my finger under his chin to make him look at me, "Hey, I'm not going anywhere without you, I just want to get you home." 

His face is wet, not all of it from the rain, as he raises startled, unbelieving eyes to mine, "Home?" My knees buckle, and I clutch at him to keep my balance, closing my eyes against the nausea returning with the realisation that he might not want to come back home with me, that our apartment might no longer be home to him.

His hand on my face, soft and tentative, steadies me as he repeats, "Home?" This time his voice is full of hope, and I blindly reach for him, my mouth seeking his. The clean tang of rain and salt is on his lips and, as they part for me, warm and moist, he tastes like the night, dark and rich and mysterious.

We kiss for an eternity as the drizzle once again becomes a deluge, the pounding rain washing over us as lightning flashes behind our closed eyelids and thunder vibrates in our bones. We break apart, half drowned, shivering, out of breath, laughing giddily at nothing, drunk on one another and the static crackling around us.

"Come on!" I shout over the cacophony of the storm and, taking his hand, I set off at a fast jog, pulling him along with me. Once we reach the street, the lights feel brash after the serene darkness on the bridge, my pupils contracting almost painfully as we cross the road and jog the last few yards to our building.

Just as we reach our door, the rain stops as if a tap has been turned off, the monotone drip-dripping of the gutters replacing the polyphony of rainfall. We stand there for a moment, side by side, looking up in wonder at the stars being revealed by the receding clouds, blinking jewel-bright on the black velvet setting of the night sky.

I feel lighter, as if the rain has washed me clean, and I smile at the fanciful notion. Feeling his eyes on me, I turn to look at him, the smile still on my lips. He looks like a drowned rat, sodden, bedraggled and pale, water slowly running off his hair and down his face, dripping off the tip of his crooked nose, but he's smiling at me, and he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I extend my hand to him, a plea for trust and forgiveness in my eyes, and he takes it, steps up close for a brief kiss and then turns away, pulling me towards the door, “Let’s go home.”


End file.
